


Mac + Window

by dickgrysvn



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Angus Macgyver (Macgyver 2016), Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Series, Worried Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016), because he’s ex-military and he’s southern and yeah, i guess I like throwing you through windows, im so sorry babies, im sorry mac, jack swears a tiny bit, mild swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 12:56:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17601776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dickgrysvn/pseuds/dickgrysvn
Summary: “Who thehellruns into an abandoned office building withfloor to ceiling windowsto hide?!” Jack wheezes, and Mac chuckles.“I don’t know, but remind me to thank him for it when we catch him,” he jokes, and Jack scoffs.“Yeah, sure thing, kid, right after I break his nose for making me run this fast.”————Mac + Window + Really big bad guy - Jack = Really Really Bad[Pre-Series]





	1. Chapter 1

  Mac grins victoriously as the man they’re chasing ducks inside an abandoned office building. He puts on an extra burst of speed, adrenaline spurring him on, and he hears Jack do the same beside him. Just in a much more… _Jack_ kind of way. The man swears loudly, his breathing so heavy Mac would almost think he’s doing it on purpose. _Maybe he is_ , Mac thinks wryly.

  “Who the _hell_ runs into an abandoned office building with _floor to ceiling windows_ to hide?!” Jack wheezes, and Mac chuckles.

  “I don’t know, but remind me to thank him for it when we catch him,” he jokes, and Jack scoffs.

  “Yeah, sure thing, kid, right after I break his nose for making me run this fast.” Mac shakes his head as they run the last few dozen feet. Jack likes to complain, a _lot_ , but Mac knows it’s just for fun. Jack doesn’t do ‘quiet’, so he fills the silence with chatter, and that chatter is usually obnoxious grumbling. It’s a bit annoying sometimes, but it’s endearing all the same, and Mac knows by now that if Jack’s not complaining, then it’s _actually_ serious. So as long as Jack’s complaining, Mac knows he’s alright.

 

  They skid to a stop just outside the building, and Mac slaps Jack soundly on the back as the man hunches over, panting.

  “What, too much cardio, old man?” He’s already scanning the big open windows for any sign of their target, so he doesn’t see the glare Jack sends him, but he knows it’s there. He smirks slightly, and Jack growls.

  “Yeah, yeah, very funny. Just remember I can still kick your skinny ass,” he pants, and Mac snorts incredulously. He doesn’t respond this time, though, as he catches a glimpse of a fast-moving figure ducking past cubicles on the second floor. Jack straightens up quickly behind him, sensing Mac’s shift in mood. “You see him?” Mac nods, already moving.

  “Second floor, but I think he’s trying to find somewhere to hide,” he answers, and Jack pulls out his gun, checking the clip and slide. “Stay here, tell me where he goes?” Jack splutters incredulous, just like Mac knew he would.

  “Oh hell no, kid! Why you? He’s huge, pal, and I’m the one with the gun, remember?” Jack’s voice is just slightly hysterical, but Mac’s already several feet away.

  “Yeah, exactly, and you’re the sniper, remember? Just tell me where he is, and make sure he doesn’t kill me!” He calls over his shoulder, running for the door. He hears Jack swear loudly, but he trusts the man to listen. Sure enough, Jack stays put, shifting his attention to the wall of windows rising ahead of him. And then Mac hears his voice come over the comms.

   _“Remind me to ground your sorry ass for this later,”_ Jack grumbles, and Mac nearly stumbles in surprise.

  “ _Excuse_ _me_?”

   _“You heard me!”_ Mac slides around a corner, a grin on his face as he heads for the stairs.

  “You’re not my dad,” he teases, and then he _does_ stumble. He trips over his own two feet, the realization of what he just said hitting him like an actual physical force. He slams into the stairwell door, _hard_ , and the resulting sound echoes so loudly it makes his ears ring. Jack hears it too, and he inhales sharply over the line.

   _“Mac? You okay, buddy?”_ He sounds calm, but Mac can hear the underlying panic and concern.

  “I’m good, Jack, just slipped is all, but I think I may have just told Briggs that he’s got company,” he answers quickly, silently begging Jack not to leave his spot. But he’s too late.

   _“Alright, hold tight, I’m coming_.”

  “Jack, no! I need an eye on the outside! There are too many cubicles and desks on that floor, I need somebody with another angle. I’ll be fine!” He doesn’t wait for a response, taking the stairs two at a time. He hears Jack growl in frustration, and he winces. “Look, I’m sorry, just, let me handle this, alright?” Jack mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like _“It sure feels like I’m your dad”_ , and for a second, Mac feels like his whole world is spinning 3 times its normal speed. _...That’s definitely something I need to address later,_ Mac thinks, before focusing back on his task. Jack’s no longer arguing, and Mac takes that as a good sign. Satisfied, Mac takes the last few steps as quietly as he can, ducking down and slowly pushing open the door. He peeks around the edge, eyes scanning the rows of cubicles and desk chairs for any sign of movement. He’s about to whisper to Jack, ask where Briggs is, when Jack seems to read his mind.

   _“Mac, I don’t see him. He’s gotta be hidin’ behind something I can’t see, I’ll try to get a better vantage point_.” Mac doesn’t answer, not wanting to give away his position. He creeps out slowly from behind the door, staying low and using anything he can for cover. He freezes when he hears something, like the shuffle of a foot on rough carpet. He holds his breath, listening, and he catches it again. _Definitely someone’s shoes_. He starts moving forward again, crouched and ready to spring should he come across his target. Jack’s voice crackles in his ear again.

   _“Mac, I got a visual. He’s hunkered down beside what looks like a printer, ‘bout… 100 feet further down the room from you. I mean, that is you, right?”_ Mac rolls his eyes, discreetly holding up his hand for Jack to spot. _“Alright, geez, I see you. No need to be so rude, man,”_ Jack mutters, and Mac allows himself a small, satisfied smile. Jack keeps mumbling under his breath, something about _teenagers_ and _problematic kids giving their parents grey hairs._

 

  Mac will never admit to being a little too distracted over the idea of Jack acting like his annoyed dad. But when he goes to move forward, he doesn’t pay attention to where he puts his hand as he moves around the cubicle. Instead of the top edge of the partition, Mac’s hand connects with a desk lamp, sending it off the desk and crashing onto the floor. The sound reverberates through the room, and Mac swears loudly, all hope for stealth thrown out the window. He hears Jack telling him Briggs is moving, but he spots him in the almost the same instant. He’s up and moving in seconds, crossing the space at a crouch, staying out of Briggs’ line of sight as much as he can.

  “Jack? You see him?” He keeps his voice as hushed as he can. Briggs might know he’s there, but that doesn’t mean Mac has to announce just how close he’s gotten. Jack’s breathless voice comes over the line, and Mac stills his movement to listen.

   _“Yeah, just ahead of you. Be careful, Mac.”_ Mac grins darkly.

  “When am I ever not?”

   _“You do_ not _want me to answer that question,”_ Jack mumbles, and Mac chooses to ignore him. Not that he needs to. Jack knows better than to fill _this_ particular silence, and he stays quiet, letting Mac listen for any sign of the target’s whereabouts. And good thing, too. Barely 30 seconds after Jack stops talking, Mac once again hears the telltale sound of boots on cheap carpet. It sounds like he’s just around the corner of the next cubicle, and Mac starts surveying the room around him, looking for a way to subdue his target.

 

  And then suddenly Jack’s shouting in his ear, and there’s the sound a gunshot crackling through his comms, and then Briggs is lunging around the corner and it’s too late. Macscrambles backward, but Briggs has the advantage, and he’s on him in seconds. The larger man tackles him to the ground, and Mac grunts, winded, as the man lands with his entire weight on top of him. He struggles against him, using every bit of his training. And then he sees the dark stain coating the outside of Briggs’ right bicep. _Jack must’ve winged him_. Mac may get teased about being a boy scout, but he’s got no aversion to playing dirty. The rules have never really applied to him, at least not the same way they do to everyone else. So he sends up a silent thank you to Jack as he slips a hand free, and squeezes hard on the man’s injured arm. Briggs howls in pain, and Mac uses that moment to bring his knee up, landing a solid hit to the man’s groin. Briggs wheezes harshly, eyes wide and dazed, and Mac shoves him off with all his might. He scrambles to his feet, stumbling into the cubicle next to him on his way up. He’s aware of Jack shouting in his ear still, and he moves further away from Briggs, closer to the windows. He catches a glimpse of a small hole in one of them, the glass around it splintered and cracked like a spiderweb, Jack standing just below it with his gun raised. He throws Jack a lazy salute, and the man scoffs loudly over the comms.

   _“Get your skinny ass outta there, Mac!”_ Mac knows he’s itching to move, to race up the stairs and join him, but he also knows that he’s now got Briggs between him and what looks like the only door, and right now Jack is his only defense. Even Mac knows he’s not going to beat this guy, not without the stealth and time he needs. _If I can get him closer to the windows, Jack can take him down._

  “Jack! Listen, there’s only one way out of here and he’s between me and it, but if I can get him closer to the window, can you take him out of commission?”

   _“Why can’t I just race up there and beat his ass?!”_ Jack yelps, and Mac winces.

  “Because you’re the only thing keeping him from beating mine!” Mac’s not one to admit when he’s lost the upper hand, but he knows that if Jack leaves and Briggs makes a move, there’s nothing Mac will be able to do to stop him. In fact, Mac’s starting to think this might have been a _terrible_ idea.

   _“This was a terrible idea and you know it!”_ Jack shouts angrily, and Mac grimaces, at both the sentiment _and_ the volume.

  “I know, I’m sorry!” He admits, and then his eyes widen as Briggs finally pulls himself to his feet and lunges towards him. “ _Jaaack!!_ Here he comes!!” It’s all he has time for before Briggs slams into him, knocking him into a desk chair and sending them both crashing to the floor again. Mac’s pretty sure he feels a rib give, and he gasps, struggling to get out from under the much heavier man. If he doesn’t get away long enough for Jack to get a clear shot, he’s dead meat. He manages to connect a punch to Briggs’ kidney, and the man grunts, and Mac wriggles his way clear. He rolls over, getting his hands and knees under him and pushing up through the flair of pain in his side. He can hear Jack yelling he doesn’t have a clear shot, and he grits his teeth as he attempts to stand.

 

  He’s just got his feet under him when Jack screams his name suddenly, voice full of panic and fear. And then Mac hears a terrifying growl, and Briggs slams into him from behind. There’s a vice-like grip around his torso, and Mac feels all the breath leave his lungs. And then Briggs shifts his grip, looping an arm around Mac’s legs and lifting him bodily above him. Mac yelps at the sudden movement, kicking as hard as he can, anything to get free. But Briggs’ hands feel like iron, and the man stumbles forwards, and Mac, with his back to Briggs, sees exactly what’s going to happen just before it does. _No. Please._

  “No, no no, please, don’t!” He can’t help the whimpering, the begging. _No no no._ He panics, thrashing and flailing with everything he has. He can hear Jack screaming in his ear, but it’s faint, like someone turned the volume down in his ears, and filled his brain with white noise instead. He can’t think, he can’t even breathe. He feels his breath constrict in his lungs, and he can’t help the scream that rips from them as Briggs launches him forwards, straight into the window Jack’s bullet went through minutes before.

  It’s only a split second, but to Mac, it feels like an eternity. There’s no sound except his own screams and the sounds of the glass shattering, and Mac imagines he can feel every piece slicing him, cutting into his skin, tearing at his face and hands, as if mocking him, pleased they failed to stop him falling. And then he’s weightless, and there’s nothing but _falling and screaming and falling_.

  He flips over somehow, _horrifyingly_ , and he can actually see the ground racing to meet him. He shuts his eyes as tight as he can, his brain not being able to resist counting down the estimated seconds till impact. _5, 4, 3, 2…_ Just before he reaches one, it’s like someone’s flipped a switch back on in his ears. In the split second before he lands, he hears Jack screaming his name, and the sound of his partner’s voice, wrecked and terrified and _anguished_ , is the last thing he hears before he his brain ticks down to 0. He hits the pavement, half on his side, half on his back, with a thud so loud even he registers it. Somehow, miraculously, he doesn’t immediately lose consciousness, but he thinks that might be worse. Because now there’s nothing but blinding pain, and he can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t move, can’t hear. There’s no sound, not even white noise, and yet he can hear his heart beating in his ears. He feels numb, and yet all he feels is pain. He can hear again. Jack’s voice is fading, and yet somehow it’s getting closer, and Mac feels so lost and confused and _everything hurts_ and he feels like he’s dead. _Not dead. Too much pain. Dying? But there’s no pain. But I can hear a heartbeat. Is it mine?_ He thinks and he doesn’t, and nothing makes sense. The sky above him is nothing but a swirling blur of lights and shapes, and it’s excruciating and confusing and fascinating all at once. He almost feels like he’s still falling, and he wants to scream and cry but he can’t _move._ The light hurts, everything hurts, he feels numb and everything is moving and yet he’s frozen, and then suddenly, a new blur appears above him, blocking out some of the light and relieving a fraction of the pain in his skull. His hearing is gone again, but he thinks this new blur is a person, and he thinks he can see their mouth moving. And then he can hear the person begging him to hold on, to _Stay with me, Hoss_ , and he lets his eyes slide closed. His hearing is sharper now without his vision taking up all the energy source. _Is that how humans work? It doesn’t seem right._ But the voice is talking, crying, and Mac tries to listen, tries to do what it says.

   _“Mac, buddy, can you hear me? Damn it, please, stay with me, kid. Stay with me!”_

   _I can try_ , he thinks, at least he thinks he does, and then everything is fading out again, and he can’t fight it anymore. He can’t fight the darkness tugging at the back of his shirt, and he turns and he lets himself be led away, into the cool, dark abyss at the end of the tunnel.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack’s POV. Chapter 3 coming soon!! I promise.

  There’s nothing Jack Dalton hates more than standing helpless while somebody he cares about puts themselves at risk. And when that somebody is Angus MacGyver, he hates it so much he feels like it’ll burn him up from the inside out. So standing here, outside, while Mac goes toe-to-toe with a man twice his size two stories above him, he feels like he might just spontaneously combust right on the spot. He knows he clipped the dude earlier when he first fired. But now he can’t risk shooting again, because Mac is too close and in the way and he can’t risk hitting him, no matter how good a shot he is.  _ Come on, Mac, gimme an opening _ , he begs silently. And then Mac’s scrambling away, and Jack readies his gun, prepared to take the shot the second Mac is clear, and then– 

  “Mac!” Briggs gets up quicker than he should’ve, and he slams into Mac from behind, just as the kid’s finally got his feet under him. Jack holds his breath, aiming his weapon even though he doesn’t even remotely have a clear shot. And then he hears Mac yelp over the comms, and he watches frozen as Briggs lifts the kid bodily off the floor. Jack instantly knows what’s going to happen, and he’s never felt so helpless in his entire life. And then Mac’s voice comes over the comms and Jack wants to sink to the floor and  _ sob _ , because his kid is begging for this to stop, and Jack can only watch in agony as Briggs hurls Mac forward. The scream that tears through the air is so loud Jack hears it in both ears, and he feels every single piece of his being shatter with the window. The second Mac’s clear, Jack unloads two rounds into Briggs in the space of two seconds, neither of them kill shots, as much as Jack wants them to be. But Mac is falling and Jack races towards him, and Jack can hear him screaming, and it’s something Jack never wants to hear ever again. 

  “Mac!!” He’s still 100 feet away when Mac hits the cement, but the sound he makes when he lands, and the subsequent abrupt end to his shattered scream, is so loud and so  _ horrible _ it’ll haunt Jack for the rest of his life. He stumbles the last few feet to Mac’s side, ignoring the pain in his knees when he drops to the ground at Mac’s side. The kid is conscious, but only just. He’s wheezing wetly, his breaths shallow and rattling and it chills Jack to the bone. He reaches out to touch him, hesitating just before he does. He’s terrified to touch him, to break him even more than he already is, and he lets his fingers hover shakily, taking in every detail he can. Mac’s eyes are glassy and unfocused, and he’s staring straight up ahead, but Jack doubts he’s seeing much of anything. He landed mostly on his side, coming to rest on his back, and Jack can already tell his right arm is broken. From the sound of his breathing, he imagines the kid must’ve collapsed a lung, most likely broke several ribs, and he’s terrified of what internal bleeding might be happening. He fumbles for his phone with one hand, the other shakily finding its way to Mac’s neck. He checks for a pulse, as gently as he can, and it’s so faint Jack can hardly feel it. Mac’s already tachycardic, so badly in shock it’s a wonder he’s even conscious.  _ I almost wish he wasn’t. He’s gotta be in hell in there _ . He dials Patty, and while the phone rings he tries to get Mac’s attention.

  “Mac, buddy, just hold on, alright? Stay with me, hoss, just stay with me.” There’s no response from Mac, not even a flicker of recognition, and then his eyes slide closed, and Jack chokes back a sob. “Mac, buddy, can you hear me? Damn it, please, stay with me, kid. Stay with me!” And then the phone clicks and Thornton’s voice comes over the line.

   _“Jack, what’s wrong?”_ He’s hysterical now, and he doesn’t even care, tears streaming down his face as he answers.

  “Get a medevac here STAT, Patty, and I mean  _ right fucking now _ , I don’t know how much longer he can hold on.” He doesn’t even care that he’s giving zero details, he imagines his tone of voice and the cursing and the choked off sobs will be more than enough. A beat goes by, and then–

   _“Medevac ten minutes out, Jack. What happened?”_ He appreciates that she doesn’t ask about the mark. Not yet.

  “He-he got thrown through a window, Patty, two damn stories, hit the pavement hard. He’s barely breathing, I don’t-I don’t know all his injuries but he’s- _ Shit _ , his head’s bleeding, Patty. I gotta go.” He hangs up immediately, all thoughts of anything but the broken kid in front of him shoved out of his mind. He doesn’t know how he didn’t notice it before, but the cement beneath Mac’s hair is spattered with red, and he can see it starting to cake the side of Mac’s head.  _ No no no.  _ This whole scenario is bad, but this is so much worse and Jack hates it. His hands ache to hold his kid, to comfort him, to clean the blood from his hair and just reassure himself he’s still alive, still fighting. But Jack knows better than to move him, so he settles for looping a finger through Mac’s belt loop, grounding himself in the meager contact. And then he closes his eyes, and he waits, and he prays, and he cries.  _ Dear God, please don’t take him away from me. Not yet. Not like this _ .

  
  


  Finally, after what feels like hours, he hears the blessed sound of chopper blades, and he nearly collapses next to Mac in relief. Mac’s still barely breathing, and he hasn’t been conscious since he first went under, but he’s breathing, and that’s what Jack decides to focus on. The medics reach him then, and he doesn’t want to let go, doesn’t want to move, but he slowly untangles his cramped fingers from Mac’s belt loop and crawls back, giving the medics room. He watches in fascinated horror as the painstakingly put Mac in a neck brace, watches transfixed as the slowly slide him onto a stretcher. He gets up the second they do, and then there’s another medic trying to talk to him. 

  “What? Oh, yeah, Briggs. He’s up there,” he says absently, waving a hand up in the direction of the broken window. “I put a couple rounds in him, he should still be alive though,” he drawls, and then he tunes everyone out and jogs over to Mac’s side. He grabs the edge of the stretcher tightly, still needing some form of contact with Mac, even if it’s just this. They reach the chopper, and Jack reluctantly lets go again, letting the medics carefully lift Mac into the helicopter. He gets in after, strapping in mindlessly, never taking his eyes off Mac’s still form. He can’t see his face with the brace and the oxygen mask they’ve got on him, but he watches Mac’s chest like a hawk, taking note of every irregular breath he takes. A just as irregular beeping fills the chopper as the medics hook Mac up to a monitor, and Jack winces at every unnatural beat. They start to lift off, and Jack briefly wonders about Briggs and the third medic he was sure he saw earlier.  _ He talked to me _ . As if he could read his mind, the second medic yells to Jack loudly.

  “They’re going to call an ambulance for Briggs! Santos is with him now, he should be just fine after surgery. Thornton’ll be happy you didn’t kill him, sir!” The young medic flashes Jack a grin, obviously hoping to lighten the mood, but Jack ignores him, and the man turns away sheepishly.  _ I’m not too sure about that _ . He imagines Patty will be glad he didn’t kill their target, but at the same time, she won’t be. She may seem like what some of the lower agents call an “Ice Queen”, but Jack knows she cares about every one of her agents. Especially Mac.  _ Damn, you really have a way of working your way into everyone’s hearts, kid _ , he thinks, watching Mac’s breathing through the tears in his eyes.  _ In… out. Too shallow. In. Out. Too quick. In……. out. Too slow. Come on kid, just breathe. Just breathe.  _

 

  The ride to the hospital is mostly a blur to Jack. He spends it watching Mac breath, listening to his heartbeat and just reassuring himself his kid is still alive. Jack’s not even sure how long it takes before they’re landing, but it feels like forever and nothing at all. There’s a whirlwind of activity the second they touch down, and Jack mindlessly unclips his belt and stands up, trying to stay as close to Mac as he can. The wheel him out onto the roof, and Jack shoves his way up close to the gurney, grabbing onto the side so hard his knuckles go white. He’s half expecting someone to tell him to back off, but they leave him alone, and Jack doesn’t pay attention to anything but Mac’s barely moving chest.

  They’re just racing through the hospital doors when it happens. Jack’s frozen stare catches it first, and he almost hopes it’s just him seeing things. Because Mac’s chest just stopped moving, and Jack wants to scream. But the paramedics around him are suddenly moving with a new urgency, and one of them yells for a crash cart.  _ No. No no no.  _ There’s a hand on his arm, and Jack tries to fight it but he’s too distracted, he reeling too much to actually be able to fight.

  “Sir, please, you need to calm down. They’re taking him to the OR, you need to sit down, okay? You look like you’re about to pass out, do you need medical attention?” The nurse at his arm is a young blond man, maybe a couple years older than Mac, and Jack chokes back a sob at the comparison.

  “No, I’m fine, I’m fine… my-my kid, is he gonna be okay? He just-he just coded–” Jack’s words sound broken and slurred, even to him. The nurse’s face fills with soft understanding, and he relaxes his grip on Jack’s arm. Jack doesn’t even protest when the young man starts steering him towards the waiting room. He’s too numb to do anything else. The nurse is talking again, and Jack tries to pay attention, but all he can hear is the sound of the paramedics yelling for a crash cart echoing in his ears.

  “Sir? My name is Chris, how about I go see what I can find out?” Jack nods wordlessly, letting the nurse– Chris, settle him into a chair. “What’s your son’s name?” Jack squints, confused. Chris smiles softly. “Your boy, what’s his name?” Jack’s eyes widen at the implication, but he doesn’t correct him.

  “Uh Mac. His name is Mac,” he mumbles, and Chris pats him gently on the shoulder.

  “Alright, just keep breathing, okay? I’ll go see what I can find out. I’ll be right back.” Chris squeezes his shoulder lightly, and Jack’s infinitely grateful for this young man and his willingness to check. He nods his thanks, and then Chris is gone, and Jack’s left to stare at his hands twisted tightly in his lap. He tries to breathe, mentally willing Mac to do the same as well. He imagines Mac breathing along with him, and it helps, calming him and steadying his own increasingly irregular breaths.

 

  He doesn’t know how long he sits there, staring at his hands, fascinated by the way they shake, the knuckles white with tension. He doesn’t even realize Chris is back until the younger man puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. He jumps, and Chris tries to call him quickly. 

  “It’s alright, Mr–” He hesitates, and Jack realizes he’s hoping for a name.

  “Jack,” he supplies, and Chris smiles.

  “Alright. Jack, I just talked to one of the attendants in the OR, normally I wouldn’t relay this kind of information, but I thought you should know. Mac did code, but it was brief, and they revived him almost immediately. He’s in surgery now, it’s pretty extensive and I can’t tell you anything else, simply because I don’t know. But he’s alive, and the attendant seemed positive.” Chris finishes quickly, and Jack feels like he’s floating in relief.  _ He’s alive _ . He knows Mac’s injuries are severe, but right now all that matters is that he’s alive. That’s enough for Jack.

  He lurches forward, burying his face in his palms, and he lets himself break. He doesn’t care that he’s crying in front of someone, and thankfully Chris doesn’t try to say anything to comfort him. The nurse just sits in the chair next to him, a quiet, solid presence, and Jack lets the sound of his steady breathing calm him. A minute later, he sits back up, sniffing hard and wiping his eyes. He looks over at Chris and sees the kid staring straight ahead, and Jack feels a rush of admiration for this kid who reminds him so much of Mac.

  “You’re a good kid, Chris, thank you,” he tells him, and Chris looks over at him. He sends him a small smile, before he gets up slowly.

  “I have to get back, Jack, but I’m going to keep an ear out for your boy. Just keep breathing, Jack.” He reaches out a hand for Jack to shake, but Jack stands and engulfs him in a crushing hug instead. Chris stills for a moment, and then wraps his arms around Jack, as if sensing Jack’s need for tactile comfort. Again, Jack is awed by this kid, at his innate sense of people and unerring calm.

  “Thank you, Chris,” Jack mutters, pulling away. Chris smiles, nodding once before turning and walking away. Jack releases a deep, shuddering breath, Chris’ words echoing in his head as he sinks back into his chair for the long wait.  _ Just breathe. _


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so so much for all your wonderful feedback on the last two chapters. As promised, here is chapter 3!! It got away from me a bit towards the end, hence the delayed posting, but I’m really happy with it and I hope you guys like it!!!
> 
> {Jack’s POV}

  It’s nearly six hours later when Jack sees an exhausted doctor walking towards him. Jack jumps up, the untouched cup of coffee he got an hour ago forgotten. He nearly spills the whole thing, and he sets in on the nearby table. He’s not even sure why he got it, he doesn’t drink coffee really, but he needed something to do to keep him from going stir crazy. He nearly pounces on the doctor when he reaches him, and it takes all his mental fortitude not to bombard the man with a million and one questions.

  “You came in with Mr. Macgyver?” Jack nods, so violently he gets dizzy.

  “How is he, doc? How’s Mac? How’s my boy?” Despite his best attempts, he still rattles off a bunch of questions, and the doctor holds up a hand with a tired smile. Jack instantly relaxes.

  “It was really dicey for a while, I know you were there when we almost lost him at first, but he’s a fighter.” Jack smiles. “His injuries are severe, I’m not going to lie to you, he had some internal bleeding, broken ribs, a collapsed lung, and he’s got a broken arm and some slight swelling on his brain. We’re not too worried about brain damage, miraculously, but it is going to be a long recovery. But all things considered, Mr. Macgyver, your son is damned lucky. I don’t know how he survived. Although I get the feeling that’s a regular sentiment regarding him?” The doctor gives him a look, and Jack knows exactly what he’s referring to. Mac has a myriad of scars peppering his young form, and Jack can only imagine the vivid picture they must paint for someone in the medical field. He doesn’t even comment on the doctor’s assumption, he just nods slowly. The doctor hums in response. “Military?” Jack’s eyes widen slightly, but he nods again.

  “EOD, three years. Medically discharged,” he chokes out, and the doctor’s eyes soften.

  “My son is Navy, so I know there’s nothing quite so helpless as being on the other side of the world while your boy is risking life and limb for his country.” And that’s when Jack corrects him, without even thinking.

  “Actually, I was his Overwatch. It was, and  _ is _ , my job to protect that kid, and he still managed to get himself hurt,” he snarls, and the doctor’s mouth drops slightly in surprise.

  “Oh, then are you-” he trails off helplessly, and Jack offers a half smile.

  “Not his dad? No. Sure feels like my kid, though,” he adds as an afterthought, and the doctor smiles briefly. “Name’s Jack Dalton, Doc, thanks for taking care of my kid,” he continues, reaching out to shake the man’s hand. “When can I see him?” The doctor chuckles softly.

  “Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t already ask that,” he jokes lightly, and Jack quirks a smile. “He should be all settled now, room 407,” he adds, dropping Jack’s hand. Jack nods once, and then he’s off, knowing the doctor will understand.

  He really should have known what to expect when he reaches Mac’s room, with how many times he’s done this over the last four years, but it stills steals his breath away when he sees Mac lying there, pale and still, bandages wrapped around his head and chest. There’s a tube protruding from the bandages on his side, and Jack realizes with morbid fascination it must be re-inflating his lung. But the most horrifying, chilling thing is that Jack quickly realizes Mac’s on a ventilator. He nearly crumples to floor then and there, his legs nearly giving out as the soft  _ click _ and  _ wheeze _ of the machine hits him like the sounds of nightmares.  _ Oh Mac… _

 Mac’s been hurt before, on missions and in the Sandbox, but even Jack knows it’s never been this bad _. He’s never been on a ventilator before.  _ It scares Jack more than he’d ever be willing to admit, and he just barely makes it to the chair next to the bed before his legs  _ do  _ give out, and he falls into the cheap seat so clumsily he clips his elbow hard on the armrest. He hisses slightly and closes his eyes, using the pain to ground him. He breathes deeply and opens his eyes again, taking in Mac’s still face. There’s a roadmap of cuts and bruises covering his pale skin, butterfly bandages holding most of the smaller ones together. There’s a particularly deep cut across his eyebrow, that one’s been stitched neatly closed. There are more tiny cuts and scratches down Mac’s neck and arms, and Jack hears the faint echo of glass shattering as he catalogues them all. He shakes his head quickly, moving his attention away from the damage the glass made. Mac’s right arm is casted, from his bicep down to his fingertips, and Jack winces in sympathy.  _ Shit. That’s gonna drive him nuts _ , he thinks, imagining the look on Mac’s face when the kid inevitably forgets about the cast immobilizing his arm. And then the image of Mac hitting the ground flashes through his brain, and he feels like he can’t breathe, can’t move. The only feeling that even comes close to what he’s feeling now is the sensation of being waterboarded. That’s what this feels like now, like he’s drowning on dry land and he can’t do anything to stop it. He has the sense to recognize this as the beginning of a panic attack, and he tries to claw his way back from the pounding in his head to focus on the steady rhythm of Mac’s heartbeat. He latches on to the sounds from the ventilator, willing his breathing to mirror Mac’s. Slowly, he pulls himself to the surface, gasping when he finally hits air. He focuses his eyes on Mac’s chest, watching the constant rise and fall, hearing the whir of the ventilator, the steady beep of the heart monitor. He drags a hand down his face, taking a moment to steady himself.  _ He’s going to be okay. He’s alive. He’s Mac. He’s a fighter.  _ Suddenly he’s overwhelmed with the intense need to grab Mac’s hand, to hold on tight and reassure himself that he’s  _ real _ . He stands abruptly, grabbing the chair and sliding it around the bed to Mac’s left side. He sinks into the chair and reaches a hand out, sliding it gently under Mac’s limp hand, mindful of the IV taped into the crook of his elbow and the pulse ox on his finger. Carefully, he wraps his hand as tight as he dares around Mac’s still fingers  _ (too still, they’re too still) _ , and he lets himself just breathe. He closes his eyes and leans back in his chair, and with his fingers curled around Mac’s, he drifts off to sleep, secure in the comfort of his partner’s hand.

  
  
  


  Jack jerks awake, sitting up with a hitch in his breath, instincts on high alert. It takes a minute to register where he is, and then when he does, he immediately registers the lack of the clicks and whirs of the ventilator. He’s instantly on the edge of another panic attack, ready to bolt out of his seat, and then he feels what must have woken him up: the slight twitch of Mac’s fingers still wrapped in his. He leans forward, and that’s when he notices that Mac’s no longer hooked up to the ventilator, and there’s an oxygen cannula across his face instead. He quickly scans over the rest of him, noting the lack of the tube inflating his lungs. He glances at the clock.  _ I slept for 10 hours?? _ He realizes they must’ve taken Mac off the ventilator sometime last night, and somehow Jack slept through the entire thing. He’s relieved they never made him leave. And then Mac’s fingers twitch again, and Jack turns all his attention to Mac’s face. 

  “Hey, buddy, can you hear me?” He watched Mac’s closed eyelids carefully, grinning when he sees the lashes flutter. “That’s it, Mac, open your eyes for me, kiddo,” he coaxes gently, and there’s a tiny groan from the blond. “Come on, bud, lemme see those big baby blues.” Jack squeezes Mac’s hand gently, and the kid slowly peels his eyes open. “Hey, there he is,” Jack chuckles, and he feels the all-too-familiar prickle of tears as Mac’s eyes slowly track over to meet his. He sniffs harshly, using his free hand to wipe at his eyes before squeezing Mac’s hand again.

  “J’ck?” Mac looks confused, and his voice sounds like he’s been gargling gravel, and Jack quickly reaches over to snag the little cup of water sitting on the little side table. He holds the cup out for Mac, and the kid wordlessly takes a sip from the little paper straw. He swallows hard, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. Jack imagines he must be in a world of hurt. Broken ribs are never any fun, and add on the complications of a collapsed lung and internal bleeding, and Jack figures there’s nothing that doesn’t hurt right now. Jack wishes he could do something to take his pain away, but hes forced to sit and watch as Mac tries to breathe through it. When Mac opens his eyes again, he looks a bit more lucid than a minute ago, and he rolls his head slightly, a poor imitation of his typical head tilt. Jack smiles softly.  _ Even after everything, he still looks like a damn puppy _ . “Wh-wh’t hap’n’d? He slurs, and Jack shakes his head.  _ No way. Not opening that can o’ worms just yet. _

  “You scared the hell outta me is what happened kid,” he says, subconsciously rubbing circles into the back of Mac’s hand with his thumb. “But you’re okay, and that’s all I care about right now. I’m gonna call the doctor, I can see you’re hurting,” he continues, ignoring Mac’s small noise of protest as he reaches over to push the call button. He levels Mac with a stern glare, and the kid stops. He holds Jack’s gaze for a second, and then he seems to deflate, sinking back into his pillow and closing his eyes.

  “It w’s bad?” He mumbles softly, and Jack bites back a quiet sob.

  “Yeah, Mac. It was bad,” he whispers, not trusting his voice enough to speak any louder. Mac hums softly, and then he squeezes Jack’s hand briefly. Jack blinks the tears away, reaching a hand up to brush a strand of Mac’s hair away from the stitches above his eye. “Go ahead, kiddo, get some sleep,” he murmurs, and Mac leans slightly into the touch. A second later, he’s out again, and Jack smiles. He shuts his eyes briefly, sending a quick prayer to the heavens.  _ Thank you, for letting him stay with me _ .

  
  
  
  


  It’s three whole days before Mac is finally released from the hospital. Jack, for one, can’t  _ wait  _ to get out of there. Trying to get Mac to cooperate with the doctors and nurses was somehow worse that calf wrangling back home, and Jack’s not even remotely sure how that’s possible. But it is, and Jack can tell Mac is just as anxious to be home as he is. He glances down at the boy in the wheelchair he’s pushing, his usually long and fluffy blond hair clipped short around the line of stitches across his head. Jack shudders, quickly moving his gaze away from the reminder of the swelling on Mac’s brain. He focuses on Mac’s hands, where they’re sitting in his lap. True to form, Mac is already annoyed with the cast encasing his whole arm. Jack watches as he picks absently at it, and he hears Mac sigh. The black cast limits his fine motor skills more than Mac would like, and Jack knows it’s just a matter of time before the kid forgets he’s wearing it, only to be reminded when he tries to use his right fingers without thinking. Although, Jack’s not sure how the kid could ever forget he’s got it. The black cast covering his entire arm is glaringly obvious against Mac’s pale skin, the whole thing exposed under the tank top Mac’s wearing. It’s a good thing they live in California, because Mac’s going to be wearing tank tops for a while until his ribs heal enough for him to be able to exert enough to put on normal shirts around his cast. Unfortunately, Mac  _ hates  _ wearing tank tops, and Jack couldn’t help but tease him when he came out of the bathroom earlier with it on. 

 

_   Jack whistles obnoxiously when Mac walks carefully out of the bathroom, pretending to ogle his exposed arms and neck. “Ooooh, I like the tank top, hoss! All the ladies are gonna go  _ nuts _!” He grins wickedly when Mac shoots him a glare, bursting into laughter when he sees Mac’s neck and face flush a deep crimson. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, man, it’s just fun to mess with you.” Mac rolls his eyes, carefully lowering himself down onto the edge of the bed.  _

   _“I hate tank tops,” he mutters darkly, and Jack snorts._

   _“You’re weird, kid,” he tells him, and Mac scoffs._

   _“Thanks.”_

   _“You’re welcome. Now let’s get the hell outta here.”_

 

  But all jokes aside, Jack gets why Mac doesn’t like them. He doesn’t like the attention they bring him. For one thing, Mac doesn’t like the objectifying looks he gets from people, people who don’t see  _ him _ but rather his body. But it’s deeper than that. He doesn’t like the attention he gets for his scars. His left shoulder is marred with shrapnel scars, from the first time he got hurt with Jack as his Overwatch. The right one is bisected by the nasty scar of a bullet graze, one he acquired just a couple days before they met. Jack  _ still  _ can’t forgive himself for that one. He didn’t find out about that until months later, and when Mac sheepishly told him it only scarred that badly because Jack popped his stitches during their…  _ altercation _ , he told himself he’d never lay a hand on Mac like that ever again. And now, there’s going to be another scar to add to the list, a particularly nasty gash across his left collar bone from a piece of the glass window. So Jack understands why Mac hates tank tops, and he only teases because he knows Mac would do the same.

 

  He’s so lost in thought as he pushes Mac across the parking lot to the waiting Phoenix vehicle that he doesn’t even notice Mac’s talking to him. He starts suddenly when Mac yells his name. 

  “What?” He snaps quickly, and Mac sighs.

  “You passed the car?” Mac sounds like an annoyed teenager, and Jack grumbles.

  “Well excuse me for having other things on my mind.” He quickly turns around, heading back for the care he did indeed just walk part. “And who said you could talk to me like that, you little jerk?” Mac snorts.

  “Please, like you’re my dad or something?” Jack’s eyes widen slightly, and he nearly falters. He lets out an awkward chuckle, not missing the way Mac’s shoulders are tense and rigid.

  “Yeah, well, sure feels like it sometimes, kid,” he mumbles, this conversation feeling eerily too similar to the one four days prior.  _ Was that really only four days ago? _ It feels like an eternity. Mac is silent, letting Jack help him carefully into the car, only putting up a token protest when Jack reaches across the snag the seatbelt for him, strapping him in.

  “I’m not a kid, Jack,” he whines, but Jack can hear something in his tone that wasn’t there just a couple minutes ago.

  “Today you are,” he answers, not looking him in the eyes. He finishes strapping him in, and then he heads around to put the wheelchair in the back. When he climbs into the driver’s seat, Mac is still and quiet, staring ahead with that faraway look he gets when he’s thinking intensely. Jack thinks he might have an inkling of what he’s thinking about, but he keeps his mouth shut and starts the car.

 

  It turns out, the hospital the chopper took them to is only two hours away from home, so Jack told Patty he wanted to drive. They could’ve taken a plane, but Jack doesn’t want to climb back into another aircraft just yet. Not when the memory of Mac strapped to a backboard in that chopper is still so fresh in his mind. Besides, he has a feeling Mac wouldn’t take too well to being off the ground again, even if it was in an airplane. The kid hasn’t mentioned it, but Jack knows he’s been dreaming about falling the last couple nights. And he’s not about to put Mac through something that might makes those nightmares worse. 

 

  So Patty provided them with a car, and at Jack’s repeated insistence, a collection of cd’s of Jack’s choosing. He grins widely as he slips in a Bon Jovi cd, giggling happily at Mac’s sudden groan when the music starts. 

  “Whoo! Road trip, baby!!” And then they’re off, speeding down the highway, Mac pretending not to smile at Jack’s horrible singing, Jack singing worse just to get Mac to smile. And Jack can’t help but feel like this is  _ right,  _ this is  _ normal _ , and he never wants to lose this. Never. He knows they’ve got some things they need to say, and he can tell Mac knows it too, but those conversations will come in their own time, when they need them to. For now, he grins at the wind blowing through the open window and sings along with the stereo. He cracks jokes and messes up lyrics and hits all the wrong notes, taking as many chances as he can to watch his boy laugh, thankful he has more time to enjoy this.  

 

_   It doesn’t get any better than this _ . 

  
  
  



End file.
